the little things
by nadeau
Summary: And he wanted every part of her to himself. — One-Shot. IchiHime.


**warning; **language.**  
disclaimer; **nope, no bleach characters are mine.**  
****note;** updated on 8.2.13.

* * *

**the little things  
**and he decided he wanted every part of her to himself

* * *

**i.**

(It was the little things that he loved about her.)

They were tiny, pleasant things. Most people wouldn't care about the qualities he loved about her. Others wouldn't even notice them. The little things that meant so much more than what she thought they had. The little things that made her_ her._

Like her wide, gray, stormy-like eyes and her soft, sweet, pink lips and her porcelain-like body and her flushed, crimson cheeks and her small, fragile fingers that would intertwine with his when she believed in him. When she wanted for him to see what she saw in him. When she wanted him to realize that she loved him back, much more than he would ever thought.

(But the thing he loved the most was her** smile**.)

Embarrassingly, his heart would jump out of his chest because of her flashing smile. Mostly because it was her own, unique way of assuring him that everything was okay, even though it may have not been.

Her affection was sweet like cotton candy. She had always been the one to encourage the relationship, to be so suggestive, while he shyly and awkwardly stood at the sidelines. And when she grabbed hold of his hand, it was always sugar-coated. It meant more than when other people did that because it was—

_Orihime._

_._

_._

_._

**ii.**

He never doubted for a second that he loved her and every part of her. He loved all the tiny things because they made her as a whole.

Their flourished relationship began when he confessed his love for her in front of his entire class. What made the event strange and paradox was that he didn't _care_ much about the embarrassing situation. He didn't _care _about how people saw him. He didn't _care _about how people looked at him. At least, not as much as he cared about what she thought of him.

Although, he had always felt like a complete sap for feeling like throwing up each time he saw her. And for the longest time, he believed that she had only saw him as a close friend and no more. He would even question himself, _"How can you love someone when you're not sure that they love you back?"_

Or maybe he wasn't sure how he felt or what he believed. All he knew was that he must have been the luckiest bastard in the world because she liked him back.

After his confession, it seemed that everywhere he went, she was there, haunting his mind and his thoughts and his dreams. He soon realized exactly how messed up he had let himself get. He had let himself fall in love with her, he had let her become a huge part of his life, so huge that he couldn't function without her.

But he wasn't going to follow her around like a lost puppy.

He had pride.

But somewhere along the way, he lost it. He'll never know where the hell he let it go off to, but he reached a point where he stopped caring about those little things and he decided he wanted every part of her to himself, to keep just for him and only him.

(His, his, **his.**)

He even became so possessive about Orihime to the fact that no one could even _look _at her. It didn't matter if she didn't want him around or if she didn't love him back. As long as she didn't want anyone else, he was fine.

Even though he didn't follow her around, he still guarded her. He thought she would get mad at him for being over-protective, but she didn't. He started to notice that she would often let him guard her, that she would allow him to show the world she was his.

.

.

.

**iii.**

He would lie to himself and said that it was enough. Her letting him love her was enough. It made no sense, because no matter how much he told himself to let go, he couldn't.

He could only think of how much he loved her small laugh, he could only think of how much he adore her hands on him, her attention on him. No matter how much he told himself he didn't love her, all these little things kept popping back up and reminded him that he did, in fact, love everything thing about her.

It was like a _poison_, a drug to be exact. As if she was something that he was addicted to. And this realization pissed Ichigo off so much. Not the fact that it was Orihime, but the concept of him being in love in general.

So the best solution was to stay distant from her to assuage his obsession. But then he would see that flicker of hope in her sweet, honey eyes that he didn't understand. And then she said those few words, _"Kurosaki-kun, what's wrong?"_

And when she spoke these words, she sounded as if she was worried.

(About him.)

.

.

.

**iv.**

Some things clicked in his mind then that simply took his breath away. Some part of Orihime wanted him around, and that sucked him right in her trance.

His hollow would go all jumpy and frustrated and always scolded him for being a total pussy. Then, his lovey-dovey side (which he didn't know he had) told him to take her in his arms and nuzzle her neck because he loved her.

And then, of course, there was the normal Ichigo side, which he usually went with in the relationship. That side told him just what to do. It told him to be protective and possessive and dominant. And even when he acted like this, her face just kept displaying different emotions that made his whole head spin.

(Confused, happy, nervous, excited, concerned, **sad**.)

.

.

.

**v.**

But then, things did go right. Maybe Kami-sama was looking down on him in pity for having the crazy, raging hormones of a twelve year-old fan girl, but someone decided that he needed some slack.

(Or, maybe, she really did like him.)

Because she grabbed his face in her hands, her soft, warm hands, and smiled at him and kissed him like he was all she wanted. She kissed him like he meant something to her, like he meant more to her than he ever imagined.

And it hurt him and made him smile to know that.

.

.

.

**vi.**

Right then, he was in control.

He tightly pressed himself against her, trying to take in all the little things that he was so sure would never be his, but that he knew could be. He would have waited forever just for that one moment. He would have chased her to the end of the _fucking_ world to feel that.

.

.

.

**vii.**

All the little things seem to align in that moment. And he thinks now, though, that he has come to accept the whole damn thing. That he loves her for everything, that he loves her for all she is. And he thinks that, maybe, she likes him, too.

(He even thinks she might** love** him.)

.

.

.

**viii.**

It was the little things that he loves about her.

(In general, he just loves her.)

Mostly, he loves the fact that every part of her, even these little things...

(... are **his**.)

And he really do love them all.

.

.

.

**fin.**

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**a/n; **oh, wow. i used the word 'love' 27 times in this fanfic. _cool._


End file.
